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[gridfather]

Flynn here, leave a message.

[ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ | ᴛᴇxᴛ | ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ | ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

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txt; o gosh

[gridfather]

Work is good, necessary, pure in its purpose. Flynn never does anything by half measures, never has. You whole-ass or you just don't do it, man, that isn't something Zen ever had to teach him. To hone his drive, certainly, to slow, to narrow his focus with purpose, to throw open himself to the system that surrounded him; the system he lived and breathed and, regardless of intent, affected with action and inaction alike, and the system that he was just as much a part of as the Programs he'd written to inhabit it.

Even in the Outlands, there was work to do. Here on Avagi, it's no different, but today it's a necessary distraction. You think you're past worry, and the way love can turn sharp and hard like a knife between the ribs...

He taps his fingers against the desktop, then peels the bright shiny tourist-y jargon from another pamphlet, casting it into the small collection at the corner of the wide holo display. More of the map comes together, while Flynn chuckles tonelessly to the empty room.

I got nowhere to be, man.